


Hell, I'm Just A Kid Myself (How'm I Going To Raise One?)

by AFarFetchedPlot



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sadlock, Teenage Pregnancy, Teenlock, mention of abortion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 06:59:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3600645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AFarFetchedPlot/pseuds/AFarFetchedPlot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off a prompt I received from Tumblr:</p><p>'Teen!Lock prompt: Irene becomes accidentally pregnant and is about to break the news to Sherlock. I need Sadlock as much as I need oxygen.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hell, I'm Just A Kid Myself (How'm I Going To Raise One?)

Irene gazed down at the stick held gingerly between her slim fingers, her heart sinking.

Two blue lines. _Damn._

Dropping the pregnancy test into the bin and quickly washing her hands, she steadily met her reflection’s gaze, grey eyes wide. Well, this was certainly inconvenient… Pregnant. She was _pregnant_. Dropping her gaze to her flat stomach, she chewed absently on her lower lip as her thoughts spiralled round and round that one idea that _she_ was going to have a baby. That certainly hadn’t been the plan…

Turning away from the mirror, she pulled her phone from her pocket, flicking through her contacts until she reached Sherlock’s number, though she paused for a moment before actually dialling. Giving a soft sigh and straightening her shoulders, she clicked the call button, keeping her gaze fixed on her pale reflection.

“Sherlock? We need to talk…”

                                                                                                *

Twenty minutes later found Sherlock Holmes lounging on a park bench, coat collar turned up and long legs stretched out in front of him as he gazed around the park at the various people milling around.  Spotting a familiar figure making her way towards him, a faint smile played about his lips as his gaze swept over her. Having never been exactly interested in the opposite sex (or _any_ sex, frankly), meeting Irene Adler had been a revelation. With her piercing grey gaze and dark curls, she had effortlessly turned his world upside down, bringing with her a new found appreciation for the female form in general, and hers in particular.

As she drew closer, however, he noticed something wasn’t quite right; though she walked as tall as she normally did there was a slight tremble, a slight hesitation in her step which spoke of a wariness, a fear almost about whatever it was she wanted to talk about. But that couldn’t be right; he’d never known Irene afraid before… Frowning faintly at her, he watched carefully as she took a seat next to him, the suspicion that something was very wrong growing with every passing moment.

“What’s wrong?” He said quietly, in no mood for small talk when there was an apparently pressing problem to discuss, his entire attention focused on her. Giving a low, slightly forced laugh, Irene flicked her gaze to meet his, amusement and the faintest trace of worry dancing in her eyes.

“As direct and to the point as ever, Sherlock,” she murmured with the ghost of a smile, secretly thankful for that; it made it infinitely easier for her to do the same. Straightening her shoulders almost imperceptibly, she kept her gaze fixed on his as she continued to talk. “As for what’s wrong? …That rather depends on your definition of ‘wrong’… I’m pregnant.” Snorting softly, clearly not believing her, Sherlock shook his head slightly; clearly he’d been wrong and nothing was wrong. Not if she could make absurd jokes like that.

“Very funny. Now what was it you really wanted to talk about?”

“Do I _look_ like I’m joking?” She snapped back, and Sherlock’s amused expression fell immediately, a chilling, blank stare replacing it.

“You’re pregnant…” he repeated slowly, and Irene rolled her eyes, irritation bleeding through her earlier air of nervousness.

“That _is_ what I said, Sherlock.”

“ _How_?”

“I’m sure you don’t need me to explain the biology behind pregnancy,” Irene replied, her tone faintly mocking. “You seemed to understand them _very_ well last time I checked…”

“Get rid of it.” He barely recognised the voice hissing at her as his own, it was so full of venom, so full of _disgust_ , but he couldn’t take the words back now; he wasn’t sure he wanted to, even if such a thing were possible.

As he spoke, Irene stiffened almost imperceptibly, and Sherlock watched as she visibly withdrew from him, fixing a cool, imperious smile on her face as she raised an eyebrow at him. Folding his arms across his chest, he fought to keep his expression as frosty as possible, treating her to the glare he usually reserved for the truly moronic.

“So that’s it?” She asked, tone mild, though the glacial, defiant glint in her grey gaze belied her apparently calm exterior. “No discussion, no choice, just… ‘Get rid of it’.”

“Yes.” Irene gave a short, sharp laugh at that, though there was little enough humour in it, just disbelief tinged with anger.

“You’re unbelievable. You do know you’re talking about a baby here, not some… Failed experiment you can sweep up and start again with. This a child. _Our_ child.”

“It’s not a child, it’s barely a bundle of cells at the moment!” Sherlock suddenly exploded, leaping to his feet and _glaring_ down at her, using his height to his advantage. It was usually enough to unnerve people, but of course _she_ had to be different, simply meeting his gaze unflinchingly, seemingly unaffected by his attempts to intimidate her. He’d admired that about her once, the fact she wasn’t like the usual _morons_ with whom he was forced to associate. Now it just irritated him, and he wanted nothing more than to wipe that infuriatingly calm smile off her face.

“We’re not discussing this,” he continued, voice low and menacing. “I’m too young to be a father, I have no _wish_ to be a father, so it won’t happen. For _God’s sake_ , I’m off to University in the autumn. I _don’t_ need to be worrying about things like _children_. It’s probably not mine anyway, Sherlock added, his tone turning disdainful and vindictive. “You’ve probably been shagging your way round the upper sixth, you don’t know who the father is so have decided to pin it on me in the hopes I won’t question the fact-“

“Oh, come now, Sherlock. Surely you can do better than that?” She interrupted derisively. “Really, blaming this on me sleeping round; how _clichéd_. I’d have expected something more from you, considering you claim to be a genius.”

“So this is about money then,” Sherlock continued, quickly changing tact and continuing like Irene hadn’t spoken. “How much is it going to cost to get rid of it? A thousand? Two? _Five_? You’re wasting your time if you’re hoping for more because-“

Anything further he may have been about to say was abruptly cut off by the sharp sound of Irene slapping him, hard, across the face, the crack seeming to echo in his ears long after the actual blow. Instinctively raising a hand to rub at his smarting cheek, he turned to glare at her, a furious retort rising to his lips, though it died as he met her gaze.

She wasn’t smiling now.

Her eyes were the stormy colour of a winter sea, full of fire and the promise of destruction as she gazed steadily at him. Cold fury radiated from her petite frame, chilling and mesmerising in equal measure, and as she spoke her tone was clipped and controlled; all shreds of warmth her voice had once held when she spoke to him had frozen in the onslaught of her anger.

“How dare you. How _dare_ you,” she hissed, eyes flashing dangerously. “I’m not some… Cheap _whore_ you can buy off to get rid of a problem you’re too afraid to deal with.”

“Five thousand is hardly _cheap_ -“

“I don’t want your _money_ ,” Irene continued, acting as though he hadn’t spoken. “And frankly, I don’t want you or anything else you can offer. You don’t want this child? Fine. I’ll do this alone.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed, desperately waiting her to tell him she was only joking, that he was right and they couldn’t have a baby… “You can’t _keep_ it.”

“Watch me.”

“Irene, you can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am. Deadly serious. But don’t worry, you won’t be hearing from me again; wouldn’t want to _distract_ you from University now, would we?” Straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin slightly she radiated a clear, icy determination, and with a sickening thrill of realisation, Sherlock had to concede she did actually mean what she said. _How had it come to this…?_ “Goodbye, Sherlock.” With that she turned on her heel and stalked away, little fanfare or fuss to signal the end of their relationship, just the memory of her anger and the faint traces of her perfume lingering in the air.

 _I don’t care_ , he thought stubbornly, closing his eyes and turning his head away, retreating into his mind to attempt to calm himself and forget Irene’s expression. But his mind was full of _her_ ; Irene laughing, Irene drinking, Irene smoking stolen cigarettes out of his bedroom window… A shining collage of the moments they’d shared together, mocking him in its brilliancy. Irene was _everywhere_ ; he hadn’t even realised how deeply she’d infiltrated his mental defences, hadn’t seen just how much she’d gotten under his skin.

Snapping his eyes open, he scowled at the ground, shoving his hands deeply into his pockets and ignoring the roiling, seething mess of emotions which had settled heavily in the pit of his stomach. _I don’t care_.

Unable to help himself, he turned to watch the receding figure of Irene as she walked away, easy to pick out even in the slowly milling crowds of the park. Jaw clenched he just stood and watched as she moved further and further out of reach, his hands balled into fists in his pockets, nails digging in to stop himself from giving in, from running after her and apologising…

 _I_ don’t _care…_

But as he watched her go, her head held high and proud in spite of everything, the words started to sound hollow to him…

**Author's Note:**

> Title's taken from a song by Kenny Chesney called 'There goes my life'. I felt the lyrics fitted with Sherlock's point of view of the situation.
> 
> I'm currently working on a sequel of sorts to this (following a number of prompts for it on Tumblr), so watch this space ^-^


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